I am not a little girl, said the child at the edge of the wood,
And I am not a little boy, but I have a cloak and a hood,
And I know where the wolves will be waiting,
And I know that the owls sing for me,
And I have no more time for your labels.
I will go where the story takes me.

I am not afraid to try, said the child with the moon in their hair,
And I am not afraid to fall, for I know what my story can bear,
And I know that the wolves have been waiting,
And I know who I'm learning to be,
And I have no more time for denials.
I will go where the story takes me.

I am not alone tonight, said the child who had journeyed so far,
And I am not confused or lost, I am following my signal star,
And I tell you that you can come with me,
And I promise I'm someone to trust,
For we have no more time to waste weeping.
Let us go where the story takes us.

(For a friend who is having some personal changes and realizations, and needed a path drawn through the wood for them.)

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my room
Were bunny girls grumbling and portents of doom,
And fairy tale murders and things from the deep—
My friends hope my dreams will stay safely asleep—

And Tara is working on graphics so fine
To help and promote that new novel of mine
(The fifth in a series I love beyond Price;
Come watch as our Verity takes the stage twice).

I'm staying at home for a change and a shot
To catch up on sleep and do what's been forgot,
For changes are coming, and coming so fast,
And it's time that we leave this last year in the past.

Two thousand fifteen is a year nearly spent.
Oh, the things that we did, and the places we went!
With DAW and with Orbit, and now Tor.com,
And I went to Disney World, taking my mom.

A whole week of Dayes can now sit on your shelves,
With wise-cracking Cait Sidhe and underslept elves,
Another adventure is coming this year,
Which ought to be good for your holiday cheer.

In March, there's InCryptid, and then in September,
An October girl who I hope you remember.
If you've missed my zombies, you'll be happy soon,
With stories so new in November and June.

With Dodger and Velveteen, Babylon Archer,
And so many more all prepared for departure
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady—
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
The dead and the living will stand and rejoice!
(I beg you to rise while you still have a choice.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my room
Were bunny girls grumbling and portents of doom,
And fairy tale murders and pandemic flu—
My friends hope my holiday dreams won't come true—

And Tara is working on graphics so fine
To help and promote that new novel of mine
(The fourth in a series I hope you enjoy,
Narrated by Alex, poor put-upon boy).

I'm staying at home for a change and a shot
To catch up on sleep and do what's been forgot,
For changes are coming, and coming so fast,
And it's time that we leave this last year in the past.

Two thousand fourteen is a year nearly spent.
Oh, the things that we did, and the places we went!
I'm still with the agent—now more than six years;
She's my superhero, and I have no fear.

A whole week of Dayes can now sit on your shelves,
With wise-cracking Cait Sidhe and underslept elves,
Another adventure is coming this year,
Which ought to be good for your holiday cheer.

In March, there's InCryptid, and then in September,
An October girl who I hope you remember.
The parasite panic will come to a head
In the month of November—so much to be read!

With Newsflesh and Velveteen, Babylon Archer,
And so many more all prepared for departure
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady—
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
The dead and the living will stand and rejoice!
(I beg you to rise while you still have a choice.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

I am pleased to announce that my first non-fiction book, consisting of essays taken from my various blogs and poetry from my two self-published chapbooks (Leaves From the Babylon Wood and Pathways Through the Babylon Wood, both of which are loooooooooong out of print) is available now from NESFA Press.

Click here for information on Letters to the Pumpkin King.

With introductions by Catherynne Valente and Elizabeth Bear, and an absolutely gorgeous cover by David Palumbo (I covet this artwork), I could not be more pleased. It's a hardcover, so the price point is high for what is essentially my blog in paper form, but you can use that paper form to kill spiders, which is pretty damn cool.

Here is what some people say. All of them are biased toward liking me, so:

"This book is bursting with Seanan-brain. You should read it." —Jim C. Hines, author of Libriomancer.

"Seanan McGuire knows how to beguile with the very best. She can whisper spells and secrets by the ballad and the bushel. But here she simply tells it as she has seen and lived it, with bravery and a loud voice, and that is magic, too." —Catherynne M. Valente, author of The Girl Who Soared Over Fairyland and Cut the Moon In Two.

"Seanan is rough and potent magic. Her work may not change you, but it is likely to change your experience of the world." —Elizabeth Bear, author of Stiles of the Sky.

"I've read Seanan’s fiction and nonfiction for years. Because she's smart. Because she's funny. Because she's insightful. Because she uses the word 'f***' in original and interesting ways." —Jim C. Hines, author of Libriomancer.

Letters to the Pumpkin King! Get your copy today! (And yes, Borderlands is planning to stock them, if you're coming to the release party.)

The bad news: I leave for New York first thing tomorrow. I can leave books with my mother to be mailed while I'm away, but they will only be signed, not personalized, and I will need mailing addresses (via my contact form) by 10pm PST tonight. I'm so sorry. This was always going to be a tight turn, and time just got away from me.

The winner of the RNG/art giveaway is...AKinzelman.

The winner of the RNG/poetry giveaway is...thedragonweaver.

Please, visit my website ASAP and send me your addresses. If I get them soon enough, I may have time to personalize before I shove things into envelopes.

Thanks, all.

As promised, here is the Half-Off Ragnarok poetry giveaway!

How to enter:

Post a comment either containing or linking to a poem inspired by or related to this series. Because LJ lists all links as spam, your comment may appear to disappear. I will be manually unspamming all these comments, have no fear.

All forms of poetry are accepted, including song lyrics, limericks, and other such silliness. Please indicate in the original comment whether you're in the US or international.

How to win:

I will be using the RNG to choose a winner at noon PST on Monday, February 10th. Please watch this space, as I will be requesting that you send me your address pretty quickly, so that your prize can be mailed before I fly to New York for the remainder of the month.

Game on!

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my room
Were bunny girls bitching, and portents of doom,
And fairy tale murders and pandemic flu—
My friends hope my holiday dreams won't come true—

And Tara is working on graphics so fine
To help and promote that new novel of mine
(The third in a series I like quite a lot,
Narrated by Alex—please give him a shot).

I'm staying at home for a change and a shot
To catch up on sleep and do what's been forgot,
For changes are coming, and coming so fast,
And it's time that we leave this last year in the past.

Two thousand thirteen is a year nearly spent.
Oh, the things that we did, and the places we went!
I'm still with the agent—now more than five years;
She's my superhero, and I have no fear.

A whole week of Dayes can now sit on your shelves,
With wise-cracking Cait Sidhe and put-upon elves,
Another adventure is coming this year,
Which ought to be good for your holiday cheer.

In March, there's InCryptid, and Rose comes in May,
My Sparrow Hill girl who died so far away,
And then in September, the winter is long,
It's a bright, brand-new verse in my favorite song;

InCryptid and Velveteen, Babylon Archer,
And so many more are prepared for departure
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady—
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
The dead and the living will stand and rejoice!
(I beg you to rise while you still have a choice.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

I am really, really happy about the fact that "Lost" has just been reprinted in Lightspeed Magazine. "Lost" was originally published in Ravens in the Library, and it was, through accident of timing, my very first physical publication (I had one story printed first, "Let's Pretend," but that was and has remained web-only). It's a story about pirates, and children, and running away, and what it costs to have everything you wanted, and how much of that cost is paid by the people you leave behind. I love it a lot. And you can read it again now, if you missed it the first time.

"Lost" at Lightspeed Magazine.

Lightspeed also did an author spotlight on me, to talk about the story:

Seanan McGuire author spotlight at Lightspeed Magazine.

Finally, for right now, I've published another poem, "Wounds," in the June issue of Apex. It's about wizards, and mermaids, and the price of magic, and how much we hurt each other.

"Wounds" at Apex Magazine.

And that's June!

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my room
Were bunny girls bitching, and portents of doom,
And fairy tale murders and pandemic flu—
My friends hope my holiday dreams won't come true—

And Tara is working on graphics so fine
To help and promote that new novel of mine
(The first in a series both shiny and new,
With Verity, mice, and a cryptid or two).

I'm writing you now from a Disney World dream,
Where I am ensconced with my favorite team:
It's Vixy and Amy and Patty and Brooke,
Oh, the trips we will take and the trips that we've took...

Two thousand eleven is quite nearly spent!
Oh, the things that we did, and the places we went!
I'm still with the agent—now more than three years!
She still knows I'm crazy, and yet she's still here.

Five Toby adventures are there on the shelves,
Full of wise-cracking Cait Sidhe and put-upon elves,
Another adventure is coming this year,
Which ought to be good for your holiday cheer.

In March, meet the Price girls, and Blackout in May
(My evil twin, Mira, says you should obey),
And then in September, there's Ashes of Honor,
And you know that somebody's prolly a goner.

InCryptid and Velveteen, Babylon Archer,
And so many more are prepared for departure
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady—
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
The dead and the living will stand and rejoice!
(I beg you to rise while you still have a choice.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

I have once again contributed Epic Silliness to the Orbit blog to celebrate a holiday.

Annabel Lee, After the Rising.

Go forth and be amused. And remember, once she's dead, she is no longer your girlfriend.

First:

I have leveled up in Real Author. How do I know? I know because I actually managed to miss a publication date. Not a deadline; a publication. As in, "something got released, and I completely missed it." So! My poem, "Clockwork Chickens," was published in issue #25 of Apex Magazine, which previously published the stories "Dying With Her Cheer Pants On" and "The Tolling of Pavlov's Bells." Hooray!

You can read my poem here, for now. Apex takes down back issues in a sort of rolling pattern, so you should read soon, or better yet, buy the e-book download of the issue so that you can keep it forever and for always. Apex is a company that does good work, and they keep buying my stuff, which naturally endears them to me. I would like it if they would keep doing that. And also, I like this poem.

In other news, I am safely home from Ohio, and attempting to figure out where I left my head. I sadly suspect it may have been in the Houston airport, where I was so hungry that I ate an entire cheeseburger in approximately four bites and an inhale. I think I scared the waitress. I know I counted my fingers when I was done. Just in case. So I am tired and I am grumpy, and I am getting tired of being tired.

I am almost done packing the most recent run of poster orders, and should be getting those in the mail this week. Better yet, the lovely Deborah has finished collating all the T-shirt orders, and I am working with the printer now to get everything submitted and start the production process. We wound up with over three hundred shirts on the order. My house is going to be one hell of a shipping party.

I am also almost done with the technical revisions on Blackout, which I will be shipping off to my publisher Real Soon Now. And thus do I buy myself time to finish the other three books I need to be working on, and perhaps someday, one day, take a nap.

Onwards and upwards.

Zzz.

Today is a day for poetry.

My poem, "Post-Modern Cinderella," has been published in the summer issue of Goblin Fruit, along with many other lovely things, by many other lovely people. Cat is telling Persephone's story all over again (we are forever telling Persephone's story, apples and snow, pomegranates and winter, lilies on a grave), there is Coyote, and Apollo, and a beauty in a tower. You should go and read and be filled with fairy tales, because fairy tales exist to fill the hollow places.

And also and also and also: my darling Mia, of chimera_fancies, who has made me so many beautiful fairy tales to hang on ribbons 'round my neck, is selling little bits of Bordertown for you to take, and wear, and love. They're made from ARCs of Welcome to Bordertown, and they're amazing.

As with all Mia's pendants, each piece is unique, hand-made, and waiting for the right person to claim it. You should take a look; one of them may be singing for you, waiting for you to come and carry it away.

And that is the time, and that is the tide, and there are pomegranate ices in the garden. I'll see you soon.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my brain
Were bunny girls bitching, and men not quite sane,
And fairy tale murders and pandemic flu—
My friends hope my holiday dreams won't come true—

And Tara is working on graphics so fine
To help and promote that new novel of mine
(The fourth in a series that you may have read,
With Toby and Tybalt and new things to dread).

My tickets are purchased, my plans are all set,
I'm wracking my brain to guess what I'll forget,
And Vixy and Tony are waiting with glee
For the holiday gift that I'm giving them—me.

Two thousand and ten is a year nearly spent!
Oh, the things that we did, and the places we went!
I'm still with the agent—now more than two years!
She still knows I'm crazy, and yet she's still here.

Toby's first three adventures are there on the shelves,
Full of wise-cracking Cait Sidhe and put-upon elves,
And two more adventures are coming this year,
Which ought to be good for your holiday cheer.

In March, Late Eclipses, and Deadline in May
(My evil twin, Mira, says you should obey),
And then in September, there's just One Salt Sea,
To close out the year and tell us what's to be.

InCryptid and Velveteen, Babylon Archer,
And so many more are prepared for departure
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady—
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
The dead and the living will stand and rejoice!
(I beg you to rise while you still have a choice.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

Hooray, hooray, it's Limerick Day! The day of limerick-y goodness! You may recall last year's Limerick Day celebration, which included limerick versions of many classic poems. Then again, you may not. Regardless, this year, I've decided to do something slightly more...interactive...for Limerick Day. Suggest a book, story, or poem that you'd like to see rendered in horrible tawdry limerick form, and watch the magic unfold! The horrifying magic.

I can't promise to limerick every suggestion, and I will eventually lose interest, but it's a party! Let's celebrate!

I've been writing structured poetry for most of my life. For the past several years, I've participated in a writing exercise I call "Iron Poet," wherein I request three words and a poetic form, and then write a poem to match the suggestion. (I don't have a round going right now, because I am out of hours in the day. I miss it. But I'm not quite that insane.)

I am honored and delighted to have a vilanelle in the latest issue of Goblin Fruit, an online magazine of speculative poetry. It's titled "Ever After Variations," and you can read it for free by following the link above.

Cabinet des Fees is an online journal of fairy tales. They publish fiction and poetry, essays and interviews, and I am totally over the moon to be interviewed in the latest issue. Another of my poems is reproduced alongside the article, titled "Baba Yaga Said." It's free verse, rather than a strict structure, and I'm quite fond of it. The interview was a joy, and the article is fantastic. Plus, check out this awesome description of me:

"A folklore maven and woman of the beautiful weird, Seanan burst onto the urban fantasy scene last year with Rosemary and Rue, the first book in her October Daye series. As her first series proliferates (Rosemary and Rue was recently joined by A Local Habitation, with An Artificial Night forthcoming in September), Seanan is also writing a year-long American folkpunk piece entitled Sparrow Hill Road at The Edge of Propinquity and has just published Feed, the first part of a zombie politico-thriller trilogy, under the pseudonym Mira Grant. Most of us are quite sure that Seanan never actually sleeps."

I'm folkpunk! Also a woman of the beautiful weird!

Halloweentown princess is go.

It's time to vote for the winner in our second-ever "write a poem, win an ARC" contest. Please, read, vote, and help somebody win a copy of A Local Habitation!



Voting will be open through the end of the week. I'll do the random number drawing for a signed cover flat later today.

Thanks, all!

...who wants to win a copy of A Local Habitation? This particular giveaway was incredibly fun the first time, and very rewarding, and that means I'm doing it again. So here's the game:

You all know that I adore structured poetry, from the haiku to the virelai. (Actually, that's a lie; I abhor the virelai. But I respect people who actually enjoy writing them.) You also know that you're a pretty creative lot. So here: the gates are thrown open! Write me a structured poem about A Local Habitation, Rosemary and Rue, or Toby in general. Since you haven't read the new book, it can be about anything from what you think it's going to be about to pre-ordering to how much you want a copy—whatever makes you happy. Any structured form is allowed, as long as you can tell me what it is when asked.

Entries will be taken through the end of the week. Then, next Monday, I'll put up a voting post, and let people vote for their favorites. The winner will receive, naturally, a copy of A Local Habitation. Just in case that's not sufficient incentive, there will also be a prize for participation—just entering a poem will enter you in a random number drawing for a signed cover flat. I don't have very many of these, so this is something pretty spiffy for you to stick on your wall.

Game on!

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my mind
Were hitchhiking ghost-girls and struggles unkind,
And fairy tale murders and pandemic flu—
My friends hope my holiday dreams won't come true—

And Tara has finished the graphics so fine
To help and promote that new novel of mine
(The sequel to something you just might have read,
With Toby and Tybalt and new things to dread).

My tickets are purchased, my plans are all set,
I'm wracking my brain to guess what I'll forget,
And Vixy and Tony are waiting with glee
For the holiday gift that I'm giving them—me.

Two thousand and nine is a year nearly through!
Oh, the things that we did, and the things left to do!
I'm still with the agent who signed me last year,
She still knows I'm crazy, and yet she's still here.

The first of the Toby books sits upon shelves,
Full of wise-cracking Cait Sidhe and put-upon elves,
And two more adventures are coming this year,
Which ought to be good for your holiday cheer.

In March, Habitation, in May, you'll get Feed
(My evil twin, Mira, knows just what you need),
While "Sparrow Hill Road" will take twelve months to drive,
And Rose knows that nobody gets out alive.

InCryptid and Velveteen, Babylon Archer,
And so many more are prepared for departure
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady—
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
The dead and the living will stand and rejoice!
(I beg you to rise while you still have a choice.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

So I have managed to come home from DucKon (which was an absolute blast, and more about it later) with twelve chapbooks remaining in my possession. I am thus putting them up for sale here, because that's what I do. The details:

1. Each chapbook is hand-sewn, with a color cover by Beckett Gladney.
2. Each chapbook contains an assortment of my poetry and an introduction by Michelle "Vixy" Dockrey.
3. Each chapbook is $20, plus another $5 for shipping within the US (outside the US, we have to talk).

To request a chapbook (or hell, to request more than one), comment here; I'll confirm and we can work out payment details. Chapbooks are first-come, first-served; I just want to get them to good homes before Lilly hides them under the bed or something.

Whee.

ETA: All gone for now!

And the winner is...

canadianevil!

Congratulations! Your ARC will not be mailed until Tuesday, as I'm leaving for BayCon in just a few hours. This means you have until Monday to get me your mailing address, either via email or LJ message. If I don't have a mailing address by Monday at 12noon PST, I will be declaring your forfeit and punting to our second place winner. I'm mean like that. Also, trying to minimize long-term paperwork (ha ha).

A big, big thanks to everyone who participated, because this contest was awesome. I'll be announcing our next ARC contest sometime after the convention. I'll give you a hint: you're going to need to start thinking visually, and then maybe, yes, you can haz Rosemary and Rue.

Whee.

We're no longer taking entries for the first-ever poetry contest ARC give-away. Instead, ten poems have been selected (through an arcane mix of "random number generation" and "oh, I like that one"), and are included below for your voting pleasure. The winner will be selected this Friday, and will receive an ARC of Rosemary and Rue for their very own. Vote for your favorite

Game on!



( Click here to read the full text of the entries.Collapse )

Hey, folks, this is your friendly neighborhood Halloweentown princess reminding you that you can still enter a poem to win a copy of Rosemary and Rue. I'll be posting one more reminder, on Sunday; then, Monday morning, I will be making a voting post consisting of my seven favorites and three selected by random draw. (No, I will not identify which is which.) I'll also be performing a random draw of entries to determine who wins a signed cover flat of Rosemary and Rue. (Yes, it is possible to win both. No, I don't consider it to be terribly likely. But hell, the echidna exists, and that's really all the universe needs to prove that logic is not always king.)

As a side note, no, you don't have to be an amazing poet to enter; you just have to make an effort of some sort. So have fun with it! I'm really enjoying the things people have been coming up with before, and this is definitely an awesome contest as far as I'm concerned.

Voting opens Monday, May 18th, and will continue through Friday, May 22nd. The winner will be announced promptly at the close of voting, but the ARC won't be mailed until Tuesday, May 26th, due to my being away at BayCon all weekend.

Game on!

Hey, folks, remember that you can still enter a poem to win a copy of Rosemary and Rue! The entries we have so far range from the seriously silly to the seriously sublime, and I can't wait to see what else people will come up with.

Entries will close Sunday evening, and I'll be putting up a voting post with my favorites, plus a few random selections, on Monday. After that, you'll have all week to vote for your chosen winner, and see where the latest free-range ARC goes! (Also remember that everyone who enters is entered into a random-number drawing for a cover flat. So there are lots of ways to win!)

Hooray!

Hooray, hooray, it's Limerick Day! The day of limericks! Last October, I posted a bunch of limericks based on books that I really love. This is because I am arguably insane. Also, really easily amused.

And now, in honor of this fabulous holiday, some literary limericks. You're welcome.

( We cut both because we care and because many of you are probably armed.Collapse )

And now, because I really care, something a little more...topical:

InCryptid:

They're sisters and lovers and wives,
Or the one girl who somehow survives.
Best play fair and play nice
When you're dating a Price,
Because crazy gets all of the knives.

Happy Limerick Day!

...may I present the virelai. This is one of the most sadistic little poem forms I've ever encountered, and my passion for structured poetry means that I've encountered quite a few. Because I am a masochist, I here present three of the damn things, titled, respectively, "A Warning To Certain Princes," "Wicked Girls III," and "Wolves, Woods, and Whispers."

These are technically all virelai anciens, with patterns of four twelve-line verses, wrapping first to last and back again. That's because I am so totally not writing an example of each type of virelai. Not unless I'm getting paid.

( A Warning To Certain Princes...Collapse )

( Wicked Girls III...Collapse )

( Wolves, Woods, and Whispers...Collapse )

...who wants to win a copy of Rosemary and Rue? This time, we're raising the stakes a little bit, and requiring a bit more effort on your part. So here's the game:

You all know that I adore structured poetry, from the haiku to the virelai. (Actually, that's a lie; I abhor the virelai. But I respect people who actually enjoy writing them.) You also know that you're a pretty creative lot. So here: the gates are thrown open! Write me a structured poem about Rosemary and Rue. Since you haven't read the book, it can be about anything from what you think it's going to be about to pre-ordering to how much you want a copy—whatever makes you happy. Any structured form is allowed, as long as you can tell me what it is when asked.

Entries will be taken through the end of the week. Then, next Monday, I'll put up a voting post, and let people vote for their favorites. The winner will receive, naturally, a copy of Rosemary and Rue. Just in case that's not sufficient incentive, there will also be a prize for participation—just entering a poem will enter you in a random number drawing for a signed cover flat. I don't have very many of these, so this is something pretty spiffy for you to stick on your wall.

Game on!

One of the downsides to being a somewhat type-A math geek girl is having a constant awareness of the various numerical milestones unfolding all around me. It's the first of May! And quite aside from the various religious (Happy Beltane!) and humorous (Happy Jonathan Coulton Says You Have Permission To Do That, But Please, Not On My Lawn Day!) implications of the date, today marks the point at which we drop from "more than four months to Rosemary and Rue" to "less than four months to Rosemary and Rue." Yes, this is a big deal, if you're me. Also if you're going slowly crazy from trying to keep track of everything that needs to be accomplished in the next one hundred and twenty-two days.

Pardon me while I flail.

Also pardon me while I open the floor to questions. See, I want to give away a few galleys (and I'll have a longer post about why I have so many, and what's being done with most of them, a little later), and that means I need contests. Suggest things! What do you think would make a good contest? "One that I can win" is not a good answer, by the by.

I leave you with Sonnet 122, because I find structured poetry deeply soothing:

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain,
Beyond all date; even to eternity:
Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more:
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.

—William Shakespeare.

Whew.

10. I appear to have started doing art cards. (Because, as Brooke said, I need something to do with all that spare time that I had just lying around.) For those of you who are unfamiliar with the art card 'concept,' they're little pieces of original artwork, done on 2.5"x3.5" cards. Mine are Micron and Prismacolor on bristol paper. I've done three so far, one to go with Grants Pass, one to go with Ravens in the Library, and one of Velveteen and Sparkle Bright during their first year with the JSP. I figure I'll use them as book giveaways. Right now, they're just being colorful and soothing; two things that I need more of in my life.

9. My reboot on Late Eclipses of the Sun appears to have done exactly what I was hoping it would do; the new first chapter is about ten times stronger, faster, better, and generally bionic in all possible regards. Now I'm working on the revisions to chapter two, just to really lock down the changes to the continuity, and once that's done, I can start processing my editor's notes on An Artificial Night. I'm spending so much time with Toby these days that we should really start charging her rent, I swear.

8. I write more poetry than is strictly healthy, sometimes in batches of two to five hundred poems at a time. (These batches are called 'Iron Poet' rounds, and are a variation on a standard writer's workshop exercise. They make me happy. I may be crazy.) I managed to write five poems yesterday, including a counted devan (although I skipped the internal rhymes on the zipper, because I didn't feel like giving myself a migraine) and a counted technical terza rima. Take that, everyone who said there was no use for structured poetry in the modern world!

7. My story in Ravens In the Library is getting an accompanying illustration. This is...this is amazing. Not just because the illustration itself is amazing -- I saw the sketch, and it is -- but because I didn't expect an illustration at all. It made me cry. More and more, I begin to believe that 2009 is the universe giving me one big incredible birthday present.

6. It's not entirely visible to the naked eye, but my website continues to creep closer and closer to being entirely done. We should be getting the first few essays up there soon, and Chris is working on the functionality that will allow me to update and edit the front page all on my lonesome. Meanwhile, Tara works secretly behind the scenes on Wonderful Surprises that only a golden graphics girl could possibly provide. Prepare to be amazed.

5. I get to spend the weekend working on Discount Armageddon! (Quoth Dan: "I don't know anybody who gets as excited about being told what to work on as you do.") I love deadlines, I love directions, and I love Verity. She's so happy to see you. And so happy to kick you in the head. Pleasantly, I just put together my Verity playlist last night, consisting almost entirely of dance music and things with a BPM of over 120. Because Verity just looooooves the beat, yo.

4. It's new comic book day! Always the most wonderful day of the week. At least in theory -- other days are sometimes surprisingly awesome.

3. All my television is coming back on the air. I'm a huge TV freak. It's what lets me decompress after a hard day of working and writing and worrying about working and writing; it's also what I do with the other half of my concentration when I'm inking. (Most of the shows I watch are more verbal than visual, and have clear cues when I actually need to be paying attention to the screen.) I really appreciate the fact that the things I watch are staggered enough to make sure I almost always have something new.

2. This time next week, I will be heading for the airport, heading for the sky, and heading for Seattle, baby.

...and the number one good thing about today...

1. Oasis just called me, and THE CDS ARE DONE!!!!! They're mailing them out from the Oasis warehouse today, and they should supposedly hit my doorstep on Friday. This gives me time to actually arrange for CDs to reach Seattle, prep the first batch of pre-orders to mail out (probably the first twenty or so, more if I can possibly swing it), and generally get my hysteria out of the way. It also gives me time to use the CD boxes to build myself a little fort and crawl inside it to hide from the universe.

What's new and awesome in the world of you?

Well, I'm home from a day spent in Fremont (for those of you who aren't Californians, read 'an hour's train ride away from my small-town home, and a much more urban place than I normally spend my afternoons') stitching chapbooks with Beckett, who is quite possibly the most elegantly artistic person I know. She makes art happen the way I make song lyrics -- with an incredible amount of diligence, practice, and carefully-earned skill that looks entirely effortless from the outside.

In 2005, Beckett graciously helped me make a chapbook, Leaves From the Babylon Wood, for that year's Ohio Valley Filk Festival, at which I was the Toastmistress. This year, she agreed to help me make a followup chapbook, titled Paths Through the Babylon Wood, for Conflikt, where I'm going to be the Guest of Honor.

(Someone asked what it's going to take for me to make a third chapbook, I think because they forgot that it's never a good idea to ask about a new project when the wounds from the current one are still bleeding. I replied that it would almost certainly need to involve a convention with the word 'World' somewhere in the name. Because man.)

When Beckett does chapbooks, she doesn't screw around. Hand-printed, hand-stitched -- these ones have a gorgeous photographic cover, in full color, as well as roughly seventy-five pages of poetry. (And surprisingly few printing errors -- a comment not on Beckett's skill at layout, but on my skill as a proofreader. Seriously, the woman's a goddess.) I spent the day happily folding sections, collating piles, and just talking to her. I love spending time with Beckett. It makes things better. (And it's deeply reassuring to talk to someone who understands what I mean about the quality meter breaking on the sixth, or seventh, or twenty-first revision of the same thing.)

I am home. I am safe. I am overcome by the wonder that is my friends. And I am ecstatic over these chapbooks, because they're gorgeous.

Life is good.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my head
Were hitchhiking ghost-girls and hungry undead,
And dinosaurs dancing and pandemic flu --
My friends hope my holiday dreams won't come true --

And Chris in his wisdom has finished the notes
Containing Bill's art and the songs that I wrote
To go with the album we're printing with care
(Red Roses and Dead Things, a spooky affair).

My tickets are purchased, my plans are all set,
I'm wracking my brain to guess what I'll forget,
And Vixy and Tony are waiting with glee
For the holiday gift that I'm giving them -- me.

Two thousand and eight is a year nearly done,
But we spent it quite well, and we had lots of fun.
I signed with an agent who knows that I'm mad,
And isn't disturbed -- no, I think that she's glad

For madness compells me to write constantly,
And I didn't sell one book this year -- I sold three!
Rosemary and Rue is the first of the lot,
And is the third book where it ends? I think not!

Next Newsflesh! Then Clady! On Velma and Corey!
Then on to InCryptid, where Price girls get gory!
At seanan_mcguire the updates are steady --
I'm keeping you posted. You'd better get ready.

The year yet to come will bring wonders galore,
And I can't start to guess at the great things in store,
So whatever you celebrate when the world's cold,
Be it secular, modern, or something quite old,

I hope that you're happy, I hope that you're warm,
I hope that you're ready to weather the storm,
And I wish you the joys that a winter provides,
All you Kings of the Summer and sweet Snow Queen brides,

And I can't wait to see what the next year will bring,
The stories we'll tell, and the songs that we'll sing.
Perhaps the pandemic will find us at last!
(If that happens, I'll see you all up in Grants Pass.)

The journey's been fun, and there's much more to see,
So grab your machete and come now with me,
And they'll hear us exclaim as we dash out of sight,
"Scary Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!"

So Mary and I have found this poem:

Spos'n the witches began to witch,
And you didn't know which witch was witch?
Well, spos'n?

Spos'n a h'ant appeared to you,
An' an old black rooster up and crew?
Well, spos'n?

Spos'n a pump-kin pumped hot flames,
From a place, you know, what nobody names?
Well, spos'n?

Spos'n a great big bug-a-boo
Reached out his long sharp claws for you?
Well, spos'n?

We both believe that we've seen it before, and that it is thus probably traditional, or a very close variant on something that is traditional. Lo, I beg of thee: can you find the source of this poem? We've sought. We've searched. We've...mostly told bad jokes and eaten candy corn.

Help!

Boredom does strange things. So does anxiety. Combine the two, and you're likely to end up with things like...

Limericks About Books Seanan Loves Dearly.

IT:
Poor Georgie ran after his boat;
The clown said 'down here, we all float'.
Now Stuttering Bill
Has a monster to kill,
Or It's certain to tear out his throat!

Fire and Hemlock:
Don't put a book down on its face,
Or trust men who come from That Place.
Gran tried hard to advise,
But our Pol wasn't wise,
And got caught in a fairy-time race.

The Stand:
A sniffle, a cough, and a sneeze,
And the whole world is brought to its knees.
God said 'no more rain,'
But why should he refrain
From deluging the world with disease?

The Dark Tower (full series):
No mortal hands this Tower rose
In the fields where the universe grows.
Now Roland must wander
From home to the yonder
To learn what he already knows.

Mirabile:
Don't tie DNA up in bows;
You can't control just where it goes,
And you will be vexed
When you're Kangaroo Rex'd.
Genetics should not be freak shows.

On Writing:
Slaughter your darlings, my friends;
Let adverbs seek swift, messy ends.
Whatever is uttered,
Use 'said' and not 'muttered,'
And follow the tale where it bends.

Limerick me! I want to see what the twisted minds of the rest of the world can produce. Also, I find this funny.